Songs in the Key of Glee
by WhatBecomesOfYou
Summary: Life, love, friendship and everything else in-between - a collection of drabbles and ficlets reflecting different Glee characters and pairings. Ch. 9: Quinn; Ch. 10: Rachel/Finn; Ch. 11: Sam/Kurt; Ch. 12: Jesse/Rachel; Ch. 13: Brittany/Santana.
1. Kindergarten : R&K

**Author's Note**: _This will be a drabble/ficlet collection with various Glee pairings and characters represented._

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**Kindergarten**; _Rachel Berry & Kurt Hummel, 210 words; rated G_

"Berry, Rachel," the young blonde kindergarten teacher read off the roll call sheet.

"Present!" Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail, and it bobbed ever-so-gracefully as she rose her hand, ignoring the stifled laughs of her classmates.

As the teacher moved onto "Bristol, Ashley," she looked around the room at the people she'd grow to know as classmates this school year. Some of them she knew from preschool - she recognized Arthur Abrams, now sporting a large pair of glasses that threatened to fall off his nose at any moment. And there was Tina Cohen-Chang, fidgeting with her hair.

Then she caught a glimpse of _him_. There was something about his hair - it was perfectly done, much as hers was - and he had a smile that lit up the room.

"Hummel, Kurt."

"Here," he said, glancing over at her before turning back to the black girl sharing his table. She couldn't help but smile at him. She was going to be famous one day; he had a certain "_jay nay say kwa_," as her ballet instructor liked to say; together, they would be perfect.

It could have been love. It wasn't meant to be, but she had no way of knowing that yet.


	2. Wrapped Up in Books : Q

**Wrapped Up in Books**; _Quinn Fabray, 209 words; Rated PG_

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She sits on a bench, under a tree, pulls out a book from her bag and begins to read. It's a well-loved book, dog-eared from repeated readings over the years. Even though she knows the ending by heart, knows who gets married and who dies, she can't help but shed a few tears for Beth every single time. Innocent, sweet, Beth.

Soon, she finds herself wrapped up in the world Louisa May Alcott had created, and she nearly forgets that she's expecting is the first time she's tried to read it since her own Beth was born. She can't help but imagine her own child's face when she reads the passages, can't help but dread what she knows is coming.

A horn honks in the distance; she looks up and sees Puck gesturing for her to come. She slides a slip of paper between the pages and stands.

She'll lose herself in the book again when she gets home, curled up under her patchwork quilt and with a cold glass of milk like when she was a child reading it for the first time; for now, she'll shove it all to the back of her mind.


	3. Fleeting Glimpse : W&E

**Author's Note**: _Originally written for a gleeverse drabble challenge._

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**Fleeting Glimpse**; _Will Schuester(/Emma Pillsbury), 100 words; Rated PG_

From time to time, out of the corner of his eye, he'd catch a fleeting glimpse of red hair, and he'd go back to a time when a certain redheaded woman loved him, and in return, he loved her.

That's how he'd ideally put it, anyway; the reality was more that they loved the _thoughts _of each other, and things hadn't worked out.

Much time had passed, his redhead moved on and away; he, however, stayed behind.

It still hurt, but he looked at every redhead, hoping that one day it'd be his Emma, coming back to him at last.


	4. First Day Jitters : E

**Author's Note**: _Written for diva_off Round One._

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**First Day Jitters**; _Emma Pillsbury, 429 words; Rated PG_

Emma locked herself in a stall in the second floor restroom, far removed from her shiny new office with the shiny new pencils and folders and everything in its place. She'd spent hours over the past week, before school started, polishing, prepping and making sure to the best of her ability that come the first day of school, it would go off without a hitch.

She hadn't counted on walking in that morning and seeing a line of students stretching halfway down the hall, all of them there to see _her_, seek _her_ advice.

It had been all a bit overwhelming, at least at first.

Nothing she couldn't handle, though, not until a blubbering brunette freshman walked in, hands buried in her hair. Her sweater was stained with the remains of what appeared to be something sticky and violet-hued.

Her stomach began to knot up; she felt the all-too-familiar rise of bile in her throat as she felt herself fixating on the stain, how it would be impossible to get out, how she wanted to help but just _couldn't _- not now. She muttered a quick apology under her breath and sprinted out the door of her office, leaving the girl sitting there bewildered.

She'd left home, gone to school, got her degree, and ended up here, in a small town in Ohio no one had ever heard of, all because of one of her friends from school recommending her to the local school board. She was hundreds of miles from home; home was where she was safe, this _wasn't _home. How could she do her job, if she wasn't even three hours into her first day and already, she was heaving sobs into bunched-up toilet paper?

A part of her wanted to leave now, drive away, never look back - pack up her tiny apartment, the one she just moved into the month before, and leave Lima, leave Ohio, go back to where she knew everyone and everything, where she felt safe and loved and the students weren't relying on her for help.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, sucking in deep breaths from between gritted teeth and feeling the breaths flow back out with her tears.

The bell trilled from overhead; she gingerly unlocked the door and looked at herself in the mirror. She dabbed away the stray tears still glistening on her cheeks, fluffed her hair and applied a fresh coat of lipstick.

She _almost_, if one didn't look closely enough to see the sadness and fear reflected in her eyes, appeared normal.


	5. Thank You : CE

**Thank You**; _Carl Howell/Emma Pillsbury, 166 words; rated: G_

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Ever since she was a child, Emma saw herself as someone beyond fixing. Her childhood therapist listened, scratched notes onto a clipboard, and asked, "see you next Tuesday?" at the end of every session.

_Not_ very helpful.

She meticulously washed her food before she ate it; she obsessed over the cleanliness of her living spaces. Fastidious was the best word to describe her.

Her flaws scared away Will, the man she _thought_ she loved.

It was in the strangest of places, her dentist's chair, where she found those flaws accepted. Accepted and loved, and slowly, under Carl's watchful eyes, she found herself changing, evolving, able to ignore the small things like crusts on the edges of sandwiches or a wrinkled pillowcase in the morning.

She'd never be perfectly fixed, but maybe, _just maybe_, she could be better.

"Thank you," she found herself whispering to him one night, as they watched television at his place, and if he replied, she didn't hear it. She didn't have to.


	6. Best Brownies in Town : MerQ

**Best Brownies in Town**; _Quinn Fabray/Mercedes Jones, Judy Fabray, 442 words; rated: PG_

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Judy Fabray was, by most people's accounts, a good mother, and a _great_ person to have sitting next to you on the PTA board - or any other organization, for that matter. She paid her taxes on time, she baked brownies for the church bake sale, and her lawn was always immaculately trimmed by noon on Saturday.

She also had a husband who cheated on her and a daughter who gave birth at the age of sixteen.

Sitting down on the couch with a glass of wine one afternoon, she turned on the television and began aimlessly flipping channels. She had forgotten how lonely it was with no one around, marrying young and then having two daughters in such a short time frame. Maybe she'd get a dog one of these days, for company.

She stopped flipping through channels and settled into a rerun of an old sitcom she used to enjoy. It's like a comfort mechanism; she pulled the afghan off from its position draped over the back, wrapped it around her, and felt her eyelids growing heavier and heavier as the laugh track droned in the background.

Until she woke up, the cheery one-liners replaced by a newscaster holding a microphone up to a heavyset black girl. She rubbed her eyes. Was that - Quinn's friend, she thought for a moment before remembering her name: Mercedes. It _looked _like Mercedes, at least. "How many years have you been coming to Dayton Pride?" the reporter asked.

"First time," she said, throwing a wink into the camera. "My girl and I came down to have some fun for the weekend." Judy picked up her glass to finish off the last remaining bit of wine as the camera panned out to reveal a second girl next to her, her hand resting comfortably on Mercedes's waist.

She'd recognize the girl _anywhere_.

The glass flew out of her hands, shattering on the floor below, drops of red wine landing on the rug, but her attention was focused on her teenage daughter, on television, at a _pride festival_ of all things with - she couldn't believe her eyes. Her daughter was kissing _another girl_. In public. _In front of a camera_, of all things!

"Quinn Louise Fabray!" she shouted at the television.

There would be a conversation about this when Quinn - and Mercedes, she added, with a heavy sigh - came back to Lima. Maybe _this_ was why they were always so secretive about their study sessions.

Her husband cheated on her; her teenage daughter has already given birth and apparently is into kissing other girls.

She _still_ makes the best brownies in town, though.


	7. Second String : Sam

**Author's Note**: _Written for a Glee angst meme prompt, wherein the prompter wanted some post-2.16 Sam introspective angst._

_MINOR SPOILERS FOR 2.16._

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**Second String**; _Sam Evans, 705 words; rated: PG_

Sam would always be second-best in everyone's eyes.

His father always said that "second place is the first loser" and other somewhat, but not really, inspirational phrases meant to encourage his son into striving for every goal and succeeding at every step - it was what he did with both of his sons, and his brother had gone on to play football, as starting running back, at USC. It was why he'd been playing football since the pee-wee leagues, working his way up to where there was no question that Sam Evans could play college ball one day. Maybe the pros, if he worked hard enough and got into a good enough program.

He knew the gameplan in his head: be amazing at one thing, everything else would fall into place. He ran through the moves as he lay awake at night and looked out the window.

Be the star football player. Be the hottest guy in school. Have choice of girls. _Touchdown, Evans_.

Everything changed once he got to McKinley, though; the gameplan had to be thrown out, but the moves remained roughly the same.

Finn was the star football player, the hometown hero, the one that would be immortalized in the yearbook as winning "the big one." It should have been him, but it wasn't - it couldn't. How could he? He was the new kid. The status quo had been established_ long_ before he came and would continue even after he left, if anyone remembered his time on the team anyway.

So he couldn't be the star football player.

He could still be the hottest guy in school, except, well, he _wasn't_. He looked in the mirror and ran his hand over his head. The hair - he'd spent more days than he cared to remember sitting outside with lemon juice soaking into his scalp, reading the latest issues of Sports Illustrated, trying to lighten it to the best shade of blonde he could get it to. His mother cut it in her best imitation of the current popular hairstyles, as some sort of a favor to him for forgoing traditional dyeing methods. His lips were too big - Santana's original rendition of comparing his mouth to a trout being only the latest indignity his mouth had received - and he'd taken to self-consciously covering them up when he thought no one was looking.

He couldn't even begin to describe the ways in which he was too thin, too fat, too muscular, didn't have enough muscle - years of locker room teasing had eroded away at what little self-confidence he had in how he looked without layers of clothing on. The full-body mirror in his bathroom was his absolute worst enemy; he couldn't begin to look at it without wanting to burst into tears.

His teachers had always remarked on what a great personality he had, though, and interpersonal relationships were one of those areas that he did well in. Until it came to dating, that is.

Her name was Quinn and she had a winning smile and a really, really adorable laugh, and she was hot, and the head cheerleader. Okay, there was more to Quinn than just those four things, but the whole thought of dating someone as perfect as her was scary. There were expectations and then there was reality, and the reality was that Finn - goddamn, Finn has to ruin _everything_ for him - was the one to sweep his girl away.

Nothing that good could _ever_ be his for very long, could it?

And he had a newfangled thing for Santana, he thought, but there's only so many times she can tear down his shreds of confidence and build insecurities in their place before he has to say "oh _hell_ no" and turn away from her. Plus, he's not stupid or anything, because he noticed that whenever they're together and she thought he wasn't looking, she'd have a far-off distant look, almost as though she'd rather be anywhere else than with him - or maybe just with_ someone else_ altogether.

He had fumbled the ball on all of his plays, and now possession had passed to the other team. Game over for him.


	8. Worry : San&B

**Worry**; _Santana Lopez(/Brittany Pierce), 200 words; Rated PG_

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There weren't many things that Santana ever worried about.

Worrying was for the Rachel Berrys of this world, the people who were so weak as to where they couldn't see straight without constant reassurance that everything under the sun was in their proper order.

She _wasn't_ a Rachel.

But there was something off with Brittany. Things hadn't been the same between them for a while, which, okay, was probably at least half her fault, and she was - okay, she'd admit it. She was _worried_ that something was wrong with Brittany.

There was a difference between the blissful naivete she had always known for Brittany, and _this_. After all, a good amount of the time, _Santana_ didn't even know what went on in that girl's mind, although she was always eager to find out. Now, Brittany was almost a wounded animal retreating back into her shell.

If she could talk to her like they used to, even if she had to pull out her secret weaponry (_No one_ could resist her, if she put on the charms. Just ask Finn. Or the effects on Rachel, for that matter...), maybe she could help.

That is, if Brittany even _wanted_ her help.


	9. Amnesia : Q

**Amnesia**; _Quinn Fabray, 207 words; rated PG_

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Quinn wishes she had amnesia. She wishes that she'd wake up one morning with absolutely no memory of what had happened and that she could start her life over again without the blinding heartache of the past year.

Seeing Beth - even seeing Puck, in the wrong light, in the wrong mood - sets off another crying jag inside her. She's learned how to dull her eyes, fade the sparkle, creating the illusion that she doesn't care.

_She cares_.

Her problem isn't that she cares too little; it's that she cares too _much_. Giving Beth the life she'd been told was the best thing for her was, in retrospect, the worst thing she could have done for her own. She wishes she could forget that Beth was hers, that there's a little girl running around with half her genes - she's done the Punnett squares in biology, she knows that logic dictates that Beth will have at least something in common with her.

And that scares her, because it would be easier if there was nothing in common at all - perhaps, if she was just some sort of cosmic surrogate.

She wishes she could _forget_.

Instead, she _remembers_.


	10. Love Letter to a First Love : FR

**Author's Note:** _Written for comment_fic on LiveJournal, prompt: Glee, Rachel/Finn, you are the love of my life (so far), 50 word fill day - hence the length._

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**Love Letter to a First Love**;_ Rachel(/Finn), 50 words; rated: PG._

First love. Love of her life. One and the same.

This is why they write the songs that she sings. Every brilliant note is a love letter to a first love. Every note, dedicated to Finn.

For now.

Things may change for them. But the song always remains the same.


	11. Expansion : SamK

**Author's Note:** _Written for a good friend, who gave me the prompt of Sam/Kurt and adoption._

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**Expansion**; _Sam/Kurt, 398 words; rated: PG_

"What would you think of expanding our family?" Sam asked one night, as they laid in bed together, his arm wrapped loosely around the back of Kurt's neck, his hand resting just above Kurt's heart.

"You mean, like having a kid or something?" The thought of being a father terrified him. He had never really had any of the parental genes in his body; he could take care of a houseplant just fine, but a houseplant only needed to be watered once in a while and didn't vomit in flower pots or draw all over the walls. He could pick up after dropped leaves, but it was another matter entirely to do the whole dirty diaper tango.

"Yes, Kurt, because I became part-seahorse when you weren't looking. _Obviously_."

"You weren't very seahorse-like just a few minutes ago." Kurt arched his eyebrow in amusement and smiled up at Sam. "Or was that just my imagination?"

"No, still all human. Although being a seahorse-human hybrid would be awesome and you know it."

"If that means that we could only have sex in the ocean -"

"Then we could finally get away with moving to the coast, like you've always talked about. I know you're eyeing those seaside cottages in San Diego. But I meant that we could adopt." Sam grasped the side of Kurt's hip with his other hand and spread his fingers out, feeling the warmth of Kurt's skin under him; Kurt curled into the gesture and looked up at Sam, his fingers brushing against Sam's.

"Mmm," Kurt said, humming softly as he nuzzled the side of Sam's shoulder. "A baby, from like China or Russia or some other country, like those guys on that one show -"

"Or we could start with a puppy. Or a kitten. If you'd prefer a cat."

"Or one of both. Cats and dogs can get along, you know."

"Are you sure that you want pet hair shed all over those fancy scarves that you buy and think that I don't notice?"

"Yes." He said, with emphasis, and then paused for a moment. "Besides, if we have a kid one day, it'll be good practice for my tolerance levels."

"_When_ we have a kid," Sam said, his voice drifting off into sleep. "When. This is just the start."


	12. The Harder Thing to Do : JR

**Author's Note**: _Written for 1drabble for the prompt: weakness. Set post-4.06, "Glease." If you have any particular pairings you want to see in this collection, look on my profile page for instructions on how to request stuff!_

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**The Harder Thing to Do**; _Jesse/Rachel, 500 words; rated: PG_

She stands at his door, her fist poised, ready to knock at any moment. After tonight - after both Brody and Finn found new ways to make her life even more complicated than it already was - she needs to take solace and refuge in the one place where both her ambition and her heart are valued. She knocks.

"Rachel?" His voice comes muffled through the door, as he peeks out the window; he turns the lock and opens the door, letting her walk into his tiny foyer. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know I'd end up here tonight."

"Where _did_ you expect to end up? Hudson's bed? You two have a lovers' quarrel and you run to me to protect you from him?" His voice takes on an edge of mocking.

"More of an ex-lovers' quarrel." She scuffs her feet against the floor and bites the corner of her lip; she had promised herself that she wasn't going to cry anymore than she already had tonight. "We broke up. A while ago."

"That should be headline news worthy. Broadway star Rachel Berry is single and ready to mingle." The implications of what she'd said fly right over his head.

"I don't think the news comments on lowly NYADA students who can't even get by Cassandra July, let alone get on Broadway and be considered a star. It's dime a dozen out there, and I'm just one of twelve eggs in a city of millions of eggs. I cost less than a cent! With my luck, I'll be bought to be thrown at some kid's front porch, and not for anything in which I'm talented."

"I'd pay hundreds of times that to hear you sing." The flicker of a smile she sees dancing across his face is fleeting, yet, in a strange way, more genuine than the faint mocking she'd heard just a minute or so ago. "Pursue your dreams, Rachel. I'll always be waiting for you. But don't use me as some sort of post-Hudson booty call seeking pity. Because you're so more than that."

"You're saying -"

"Go back to New York. Put in the work and long hours. Sweat for it. Prove to Cassandra July and any other doubters you have out there that you're the rising talent of this newest generation. Like I know you are."

"And if I fail?" She looks at him with a deep, inborn sadness in her eyes. "I - I don't know what I'd do with myself. I don't have my fiancé, and I wouldn't have my career."

"You're _not_ going to fail." He grabs her and takes her in his arms and kisses the small patch of skin just aside from the corner of her mouth; she allows her jaw to fall slack as he does so. "And if by some chance you do, I'll still be there."

She lets out a soft whimper. "Thank you."

"For what?" He lets her go, and yet they're still standing so close that she could reach out with her hand and brush her fingers along his arm.

"For always believing in me."

"The harder thing for me to do would be to not believe in you." And she knows that to be true.


	13. For That Thick Silence in the Dark: SanB

**Author's Note**: _Written for ariestess for Fandom Stocking 2012._

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**For That Thick Silence in the Dark**; _Brittany/Santana, 375 words; rated: PG-13_

The first time they kissed, it was tentative; a brief touch of the lips in the hot, lazy summer between eighth and ninth grade, laying in the hammock in Brittany's backyard, while they were supposed to be watching her younger brother for an hour. The kiss was over before they even realized it; Brittany insisted that he could take care of himself, and when they came back inside to see Lord Tubbington covered in something white and powderly and an overturned flour jar sat on the floor, Santana could only press her palm to her face. Brittany giggled, and there - there, something changed inside Santana. She wanted to hear that giggle, over and over again.

The second time they kissed, Santana knew better. She knew who she was, and she wasn't going to change that - not for Brittany, not for anyone. But when Brittany was insistant - "Santana, _please_?" she implored "I _want_ this." - Santana was too weak to resist. She always would be. And so she gave Brittany a kiss; Brittany attempted to rub her lips together across Santana's. Santana pulled away; it was too much. Brittany couldn't have known. The hurt look that spread across Brittany's face said it all, if Santana would have only looked.

She never did, until _never_ became _always_ overnight, with no cause for alarm.

The third time they kissed - no, was it the eighth? fifteenth? two hundred and thirty second? Santana lost count after a while, not that she'd really been trying - there was more. Just _more_. Of them. Of each other.

There would always be more. It just kept coming, even as they grew older, wiser - even if Brittany kept some of her youthful naivete - and discovering more ways in order which to kiss and to love. There would always be kisses that didn't make their mark, landing on collarbones and stomachs and that little place where the thigh meets the hip that Brittany discovered drove Santana wild with whimpers when she flicked the tip of her tongue against it. There would always be so much that they could learn about each other.

There would never be enough time to do all the things they wanted to do, but they could make the ones count that they had.


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